Diaka
by ElfMaidenOfLight
Summary: Based on the movie. Nika and Agent 47 come from two compleatly different worlds, and while on the run, their personalities clash rather violently. Despite their initial dislike, could they ever feel something more for eachother?
1. Wine

A/n- I _just_ saw the movie (it is amazing) and my boyfriend owns the game- Timothy Olyphant is awesome! On the way home from the theater I heard Jordin Sparks' new song 'Tattoo' and it inspired me to write up this little one-shot! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine- except the plot.

Summary: Set during the movie. Nika and Agent 47 are on the run.

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**Diaka **

* * *

The rain that splattered off the ceramic eaves created the distinct sound of needles as it tapped gently on the windows along the hotels' hallway. The plush carpet diffused the sound, masking the weather's intensity.

Agent 47 turned the gold door handle gently; the food parcel that was tucked under his arm slipping slightly as the door swung back on its perfectly oiled hinges. Such luxurious surroundings- how foolish… too ostentatious.

Still, such a hotel trumped any kind of roadside Inn they had come across in their many days previous. That, plus he felt the tiniest hint of sympathy for his female companion. 47 would bet his life on the fact that she preferred these surroundings to the trunk of his stolen car.

Stepping through the threshold, he stopped short.

The curtains on every window were drawn together; that plus the storm clouds outside and the room was claustrophobic; shadowy. What rays of light that _did_ filter in through the gaps at the tops and bottoms of the windows were grey and minimal at best.

Wonderful, 47 thought, she was in a _mood_. Leave her alone for a couple hours and she gets depressed. The door closed just as silently as it had opened, his hand having never left its cool, mahogany surface.

"Nik-" He cut himself off as he set the food on the table.

A wine glass, stained red from its contents and the aftereffects of her lipstick, had been crushed against the varnished table, the contents having dripped down the side of the desk.

It wasn't like her to waste good liquor.

Two heartbeats and 47 drew out the gun that had been hidden in the back of his belt, the silencer already screwed onto barrel. Backing up, he was instantly hidden in the shadows.

The front room, a circular space, where 47 was squared against the wall, expanded out to the right through ornate French doors to the bedroom and adjacent bath. One of the doors had been closed; he couldn't see if anyone was beyond it.

Steeling himself, while ignoring the odd thump of his heart against his ribcage, 47 swiveled outwards, aiming a swift kick to the closed door. The wickerwork was forced off its stopper, swinging in a large arc on its hinge and banging into the wall behind it. It shuttered against itself.

A sharp breath hitched in 47's chest.

Nika was slouched in a chair, back to him, head tilted upwards toward the ceiling; although he couldn't see her face. Her left arm dangled limply, but her right was resting on a small round end table at the left corner of the bed, cigarette lit and burning in her fingers- which where practically _in_ the ashtray.

There was blood on the hand holding the cigarette.

"Fuck." 47 turned on the spot, scanning the room.

It was silent, and quite still.

Stowing his gun, he crept towards Nika's body, the faintest hint of despair rising in his throat.

He knew they would find him- find her- eventually. Perhaps if he had been there he could have saved her… again.

Suddenly, and without any kind of warning, Nika moved.

47 froze where he stood, inches behind her.

"You know," She hissed through her teeth. "You aren't so quiet; I knew you were standing there."

Sighing, 47 strode away, shrugging off the jacket around his shoulders, throwing it angrily onto a chair in the corner.

"I thought you were dead."

Nika smiled bitterly, taking another drag of nicotine. "Not yet." She chuckled. "Not yet." 47 glared at her.

"There was blood-"

"I smashed the glass." She said simply, gesturing in the air; her hand showed a long scratch along the palm- the blood there was dry. Her eyes, unblinking, still stared up at the ceiling. The she added, "I was angry."

"Apparently," came 47's reply.

Nika swiveled in her chair, getting up slowly, catlike, her long legs extending little by little. She was performing a little show on purpose, 47 knew that. He kept his gaze on her eyes, he had to; she was only wearing a thong again.

"What do you want from me, huh?" She spat at him, a hand on her hip.

"I brought you food."

"I don't care what you do!"

"You're drunk again."

"I am completely sober- stop ignoring the conversation!"

47's face was calculatingly blank; his eyes darted from Nika's face to the window, then back again. "It seems less like a conversation and more like a chance for you to yell at me."

"You're-" She broke off and made a forced, frustrated noise, stubbing her cigarette out in the ashtray, turning away from him. "It's hard to think like this- to live like his. I don't know if I'm tired, hungry, upset, or what." Without a word she walked daintily out of the room and towards the foyer, heading for the food.

Loosening his tie, rolling his eyes, 47 dipped down to the mini-bar next to the nightstand. Vodka and other various liquor bottles rattled as the door to the fridge opened. Pushing away the alcohol, 47 took out a cold bottle of water; sitting down on the bed he screwed off the twist top.

In the other room he could hear Nika unwrapping the sandwich and crackers.

"What is this?"

Her voice was slightly amused and sweet at the same time; as if she had completely forgiven him.

47 tipped the plastic bottle back, the cold water easing the unnatural feeling he had experienced when he had thought Nika was dead. There was still a hard jumpiness lodged in his chest. He let out a soft breath. "Hmm?"

"There are no pickles on this sandwich," now she was definitely amused. "you don't like pickles or something?"

He didn't answer her, but leaned back against the silky pillows of the queen sized bed, resting his feet up on the comforter. Slowly, almost cautiously, 47 took another drink of water.

Sandwich in hand- minus the crackers- Nika strutted back into the bedroom, flopping herself down on the other side of him, a bite already gone of her meal.

"I thought the crackers were a bit useless, seeing as we don't have the wine anymore." She explained, mouth full. When 47 gave no reply, she turned to look at him; he was staring at the door to the bathroom.

Nika chewed in silence, studying his face and lack of expression. Her brows came together as she mulled over the internal conversation she was having with herself.

"Here," handing off the other half of the sandwich, she plucked the half empty drink out of 47's hands. Nika downed the rest.

"There are other bottles, you know." 47 said coolly.

"Yeah, but I figured you didn't mind, you know, vicariously kissing me so much," her eyes squinted at him as she talked. 47 resisted the smile that threatened to twitch over his lips; Nika grinned.

"I really _did_ think you were dead."

At this, the girl became silent, eyeing the ashtray on the table. "Next time don't leave while I'm still sleeping," her gaze flicked up at him, "and I won't think you're gone. I thought you left me."

"I wouldn't do that," and it was hard for 47 to rationalize that the reason he _didn't _leave was for her protection and not because of… something else. He chewed his food slowly.

There was a moment of silence…. then,

"You _don't_ mind kissing me, do you?"

"Nika…" 47 began, exasperated, sitting up.

"Because if you do," she started, half rolling- half stepping over his legs to land on the carpet so she could open the mini-bar. "I mean, I completely understand. Who _would_ want to kidnap such a beautiful little whore like me?" It seemed that the iciness had seeped back into her voice. She pulled out a tiny vodka bottle. "I'm just not that pretty to look at." 47 glared at her, getting up as well as she straightened up to stand next to him, trying to feign searching for a glass as she pretended not to notice the way he was sort of looming over her. "I'm just _so_ useful to have around, you know, to take out to dinner as some kind of decoy, to walk around like some kind of trophy. No, no, I get it. It's just-"

"I don't," 47 said sharply.

Nika looked up at him. "What?" She snapped.

"I don't mind."

Nika pursed her lips. "What; kissing me?"47 looked away. Her mouth slowly formed a small 'o', the bottle hanging limply in her hand. "Why don't you then?" Her voice was low, breathy, challenging. She was standing so close to him she could see the clearness of his gaze.

For a moment, she thought he was about to do something- something meaningful. His lips parted just a fraction, and his chest moved sharply up and down. His eyes were locked upon hers.

Nika could see- perhaps it was her imagination- the emotional conflict raging within him.

Duty or pleasure? Duty or pleasure?

"You should get some rest," he said finally, emotionlessly, stepping past her and opening up the bathroom door, closing it behind him. There was a small click. He had locked it

After a minute or so, Nika heard the shower turning on and she went back to lie on top of the bed, not bothering to pull back the sheets.

Curling herself around the pillow, she felt a strange despair rise within her breast.

Rejection.

Slowly, as fatigue took her, she felt tears brimming at the edges of her already smudged and tired eyes.

She was asleep before the water stopped running.

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A/n-

I hope you enjoyed! If anyone is interested, the title is also the name of a very expensive vodka brand. I'd like to think it's Nika's premiere choice. I don't own it either.

Please review!

**edit-** I said I wouldn't do a second chapter... but since everyone asked so nicely I'll begin working on one.


	2. Rum

A/n- because everyone asked so nicely I thought I'd do another.

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Summary: The next day; with a little more physical'ness and characterization.

* * *

**Diaka**

* * *

It was warmer that day, the second day; the dark rain clouds passed sometime during the night, leaving a wet blanket of stillness in their wake. No birds twittered, no animals stirred; only the city's stray dogs roamed the streets of the town, sniffing. Darkness had passed and had been replaced by a pale grey sky; the color of molten silver.

The woman lying face down in the oversized bed bit her lip, eyes screwed shut against the frames of light falling across her face. There was a hand on her shoulder, a warm palm on her cold skin; a prickling feeling.

"Nika?"

Nika groaned, trying to swat the hand away from her. "What?" She half whined half whispered, her head turning into the pillow. The hand upon her slowly slid away and she felt goose bumps. Slowly, she moved her head to the side.

47 was bent down, face close to his companion's. She wouldn't look at him, but her ear was close enough for him to speak and for her to listen.

"I'm going out. I'll be back soon. You should go out to the market around the corner; buy something to eat."

"Too early."

"Nika," exasperated, "It's almost noon."

Blindly, without looking, Nika's arm shot out, barely missing 47's tie. He jerked back swiftly. He could almost hear the smile forming on the woman's lips. "Go then," He heard her murmur, "I'll get something."

Eventually, she did get up, but only after Nika forced herself to watch the digital clock beside the bed tick away another twenty minutes. She wouldn't get up until he was gone and thus was forced into hearing the sounds of his walking across the floor and the sharp clippings of magazines being slid into hollow chambers.

She closed her eyes in faux sleep when 47 came to retrieve his jacket on the chair next to her side of the bed. Nika tried to breath long and rhythmically but the way he paused just beyond where she lay told her he knew what she was doing- or pretending to do.

A few moments later the door to the room shut with a soft, whisper's click,

Nika sat up, swinging her legs over the bed. She was naked, as she had been the day before, but her body felt drained, looked drained, as she curled into herself there upon the mattress.

Turning just a fraction, she saw 47's neatly tucked space where he had slept upon the bed. He had never drawn back the sheets, had never slept inside the warmth with her.

Nika gulped and for the first time, felt shame. Not for her bold nakedness, nor for her attitude towards him, but for what he must think of her. Salt mingled with her sweat as she tried and failed to will herself from crying.

After being drunk for so long, one forgets that the haze one feels at times is not the swath of alcohol, but the unaccosted starkness of sobriety.

A hangover was in full effect.

Getting slowly to her feet, Nika pulled on an t-shirt she had bought a few days ago from a local cart merchant, and bent down to the mini-bar. The tinkling of various glass bottles issued from the fridge as she pulled open the door.

Reaching for a travel size vodka, she stopped.

Despite the pounding in her head, the world felt alive and crisp; more so than it had in a very long time. Here she was, free to do whatever she pleased without the threat of violence or sex, and she was blurring it with absinth liquor?

Apart from the three bottles of water in the bar, there were more than twelve other small glasses filled with everything from cognac to scotch to whiskey. Nika took every single bottle and poured them down the sink.

Placing the empty bottles upon the table, she went into the shower.

OoO

Before 47 closed the door to the hotel room that evening, he had paused, if just for the briefest of moments, to reexamine the door's number. He was almost sure he had entered the wrong room.

Slowly, the door closed, and he breathed in a lungful of air, scanning the space before him.

The curtains were drawn back a little, enough so that light was allowed to illuminate the furnishings. The air, too, was different that day than before; fresh and of flowers.

There was a vase filled with an exotic looking bouquet on the dinning table.

47 drew his lips into a thin line.

What was she doing?

Moving further, into the bedroom, his hopes of Nika being at all manageable that night were instantly crushed when he saw the empty bottles of god-knows what on the table. Had she emptied the hotel's entire stock?

"Nika?"

"Oh, you're back." The sound came from the door to the bathroom.

47 took off his coat and brought a hand up to his tie, "I thought I told you to go down to the market, not drown yourself."

Her voice was curious, yet edgy, "What do you mean?"

He had expected her to be scantly clad again, as she had been previously, and he was prepared to lift his gaze, as he had been doing for the duration of the trip thus far. He was surprised when his companion appeared in very near normal clothing: blue jeans and a pale gold cotton shirt.

"What's that?" He asked harshly, perhaps more than he had wanted to, as he pointed to the wasted alcohol. The bitterness masked his surprise, and he was afraid she would notice.

Her smirk caused the dragon upon her cheek to move. "I got rid of it," she noted flippantly, "It was taking up too much room. I needed the space for the food."

"What food."

"Dinner, obviously."

"Dinner?" The incredulousness of his question caused her to frown.

"Yes, why? Did you have a better plan? Are we going out to eat again so that you can have a little more fun running around killing people?"

47 glared at her, but said nothing.

Nika shook her head, bringing up a perfectly manicured hand to her forehead, where she rested it. "I just thought it would be nice."

"Nice?"

"Yes, God, stop repeating everything I say you idiot."

They both stood, just for a moment, watching each other. She was the first to move, the first to blink, the first to make a truce- if it could be called that.

Nika lowered her gaze, something unaccustomed to her, and reached tentatively to rest her hand upon the doorframe. "I'm… sorry, I do not feel like myself today." Her accent rolled the words off her tongue and the tone of her own voice send a chill up her spine. No, she did not feel like herself.

He was before her in two strides. Lost in thought, she hadn't heard him, and by the quickness of his presence she was reminded of just how dangerous he was. She was staring at the red of his tie; it was consuming.

She didn't realize that she wasn't breathing until she felt his hand upon her cheek; his thumb upon the bone there. She gasped, shuttering, as the palm of his hand moved to cup her face.

"Nika-"

"Sorry- don't, I'll…"

Her voice died as his lips brushed the ink upon her skin just under her eye. She was quivering very minutely, afraid that the hand now pressing upon her right hip would somehow crush her or that if she moved, the moment would be lost, forever.

"You're fine," his voice was in her ear and she felt a thrill within her stomach; a tingling within her body.

Her eyes were closed, but she didn't remember closing them, she had thought that she had kept a firm stare upon the tie. They must have been closed because they snapped open as the kiss trailed down to meet her lips. The hand holding her face never gave but the other against the waist pressed her closer.

It surprised her that his kiss was in no way violent. Nika was use to the forceful way men had about her; the pressure of their tongues against her mouth and their roaming hands. It was endearing how cautious he was with her; it made her weak.

Slowly she parted her lips in a half grin, lazy and flushed with heat and excitement. There was a rush of air and Nika could feel the smallest of sighs from 47, as he captured her smile.

Nika's body was plucked from the ground without her realizing it, and she was placed upon the crisp bedding in one fluid motion, without 47 breaking contact. Slowly, her back was pushed down upon the comforter.

It was with great difficulty she was able to break from the kiss, "But I thought you didn't want-"

She trailed off as she caught sight of his eyes as he leaned over her. They were dark, lidded, and barely able to contain the flicker of desperate wanting within them.

47's breath hitched, and she was marveled.

"And I though," his voice barely audible, "you didn't care."

Nika let out a snapping sound, "Stop this then, if you're just toying with me. Last time you drugged me when I- when I… it's not fair."

He silenced her with another brief kiss, softer, just the merest brushing. "Nika, please…"

He was pleading with her, the very smallest hint of utter need within his voice.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she brought him down to her, down so his lips were on her neck and her mouth was at his ear.

"Then I won't speak… I'll listen."

She felt the weight of his hips upon hers and allowed herself to relax against his hands.

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a/n- yay! So, I'm going for broke here and giving you a THIRD chapter. Check back for it!!


	3. Vodka

A/n- Last one. I swear. This is it! Promise!

Disclaimer: TT

Summary: Takes place after the movie ends.

* * *

**Diaka**

* * *

There was music in the air.

Around her, evening lights flickered off the brilliant tapestries hanging from wide-open windows.

The square, a large cobbled space squeezed between the brick buildings of the city, was always full of people. If it had been early afternoon, stalls and blankets would cover the ground, but in the evening, when the market was silenced under the heavy swath of dusk, the small shops and restaurants awoke with renewed life.

Tables and chairs spread themselves in and around the walkways.

The early summer night was pierced with happy noises from restaurant goers, and Nika bid farewell to her good friend Liana, who owned the Autunno Rosso, the Autumn Rose, a local eatery.

The young woman, with fiery red hair and green eyes laughed uproariously as Nika grinned.

"I swear to God," Liana breathed through her laughter, Italian accent thickening her words, "go home and get rest! You allow me no time to work with your company! Come back tomorrow, you've done enough today!"

It was customary for Nika to loiter around all evening. Her shift ended at six, but she always stayed later then usual, distracting her friend. Her night would always end with good wine, a bit of leftover food, and Liana shooing her away.

The Russian pointed her finger playfully, "I need my rent! How am I supposed to pay if you never work me?"

Liana pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose, "Tell my brother; he give you another month free. He like you anyhow, thinks you're some mysterious city girl. Piff! All I know is you too good at serving tables! Only reason I keep you around!"

Nika let a bark of a laugh escape through her lips as she waded through the throng of tourists and locals, waving back.

Unlike the city, this Tuscan town was quiet, homely. Everyone smiled and reached out to you.

When Nika had first arrived she had been caught off guard by the friendly atmosphere.

It made her weary.

She felt trapped at times.

But then she would remind herself of that little booklet up in her room, the one with the pictures of the kind of places she wanted to own one day, and she would force herself up out of bed every morning for another day of work.

It had been four months. Getting out of bed with no one beside you never got any easier.

Turning down a dark and deserted side street, a warm breeze fell upon the woman's brow but she shivered anyway.

She had been smart to leave when she received the pamphlet. Included inside, along with the pictures of the countryside and lands for sale, had been a single train ticket and a considerable amount of cash.

Nika let the coat around her arm fall open in her hands. Slowly she twisted it round to envelop her shoulders. Fumbling, she pulled out a lit a cigarette.

She took a deep drag, allowing the smoke to sit within her for a moment; allowing it to fill her wholly.

For the briefest of moments, when she was alone, she allowed herself to remember things: feelings, emotions, the burning sensation of her skin drawn up roughly against-

But she stopped herself. She wouldn't allow herself something so idiotic as holding onto a fleeting hope that would never be realized.

She needed to move on. Alcohol didn't serve as a comfort anymore. The feelings she hated, that she lived on, that drove her, always penetrated even her most heavily drunken state.

She needed to move on.

Liana was right, her brother _was_ attracted to Nika…. but every time he was close, she wanted to throw up at the thought of him touching her.

She stopped walking and let herself lean up against the wall of a building.

Life was such a mess.

Her feet ached from an entire day of bussing and serving tables. It was a fine restaurant, to be sure, but it was too tasty for its own good. There were so many patrons, and Nika barely had any time to rest.

The cigarette was stubbed out.

Sighing, she readied herself for the emptiness her absurdly small apartment would bring her.

Two short blocks and she was walking up the stairs to her room. She'd avoided Liana's brother, thankfully he had been with a different tenant.

Her key fit into the lock, but she had to lift the handle to open the door as it stuck on itself when swinging inside. Setting down her bag she turned around to close the door behind her. She reached for the lights.

There was a sudden noise.

Nika had taken two steps when a gunshot, very close to her, shattered the window behind her. A small squeal escaped the woman's lips and she sank to her knees.

Someone crashed into, as if they had lunged. She fell, sprawling out against the hardwood, a heavy weight upon her chest.

Her lungs were pressed against the mass, squeezing closed, her breath coming in panicked gasping. She clawed and heard the person above her grunt as her nails slashed across his face.

A large fist came into contact with her cheek, and she saw stars as her head cracked against the ground.

She shrieked but a gloved hand was covered her mouth.

His hand encircled both her small wrists and held them above her head, his bulk pressing onto her legs. In the dying light she saw he wore a suit, his head shone, clean-shaven. But his eyes. They were small and cold and not at all familiar.

Her blood froze within her veins as she felt the barrel of a gun rest upon the side of her neck.

She squinted her eyes shut, her lips pressed together. She could taste the salt of tears.

The figure was breathing heavy.

She was going to die.

She heard the gun's hammer click back and the gun was fired.

Nika held her breath, sure she was gone; her blood splattered against the ground.

The weight that had crushed her fell sideways onto the ground, unmoving.

Someone wrapped an arm around her and was pulling her off the floor. She didn't try to fight it, all her strength was gone. Coaxed off of the cobblestone, she saw the man that had rushed her. Her heart turned to lead.

He was dead.

It wasn't him.

Nika was shaking, tears streaming down her face, her crushed cigarette smeared into her palm.

In the awkward position, the awkward hug, she felt a gun handle press into the small of her back., as if someone held it. It was hot, warm from the powder just fired.

Something clicked.

She'd been saved

"Are you alright?" A familiar voice, low, breathless as she'd never heard it.

Her mouth opened and closed several times as the figure pried her off his jacket, off his red tie she was clinging to.

"I'm sorry, Nika, it was too close…"

Now the tears, not at all from the fear, choked her throat and stung her eyes. Her breath hiccupped out of her chest and she was shaking.

"What-" She gulped and was enveloped by a sudden panic. "What are you doing here?"

47 grabbed hold of the woman's arm and switched on the apartment's lights, the gun slack in his other hand. He didn't answer her.

His eyes flitted over her face, searching. Nika winced as he passed the palm of his hand over the bruise now blooming on her skin.

"What-"

"Are you alright?"

She was silent for just a moment.

"What the fuck was that?" Was she screaming? Her head was pounding so hard.

He stared at her, grabbed her arm, and began to pull towards a chair near the refrigerator. She wrenched out of his grasp, glaring. 47's eyes narrowed, lips parted just very slightly.

"How did you find me?" She knew. She knew he wouldn't trust her. He didn't meet her gaze. Advancing on him she became very close and hissed, "You've been spying on me! I don't need protection!"

He smirked, albeit sadly, "Obviously."

She wanted to scream, wanted to punch him. "You leave and then just show up! What the fuck? Why did you ever come here?"

His hands grabbed her upper arms roughly, so his face was within inches with hers. His teeth were clenched. "I've been protecting you."

"From who?!"

"The people that want to kill you."

"Wh-… why would they want to kill me?"

"For helping me. For knowing things."

Although she tried to sound menacing, her voice was tired, and all she could feel was helplessness. "You should have stayed. Why didn't you stay?"

"I didn't think they'd try and-"

"Kill me."

"Yes."

She swore, in Russian; called him an idiot- bastard. There was a shadow of relief washing over his face and he let her go, gently.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

Nika snorted, "I suppose I should thank you? Thank you for up and leaving?" The door to the apartment was closed. Nika went to the window and began picking up the glass. "How long have-"

"Since you left."

She let the glass fall into the sink.The woman's hands balled into fists and looked away, biting her lip. 47 moved towars her. She felt a tug, his thumb running down the tattoo on her cheek. His eyes were watching her, unsure of her.

Shaking her head, she sighed, "What am I going to do with you? I'm so mad..."

"I'm sorry."

A mirthless laugh, "No your not."

His jaw set heavily and he went to the body of the dead agent.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I'll be right back," he picked up the body and left the apartment. She stared after him and sank down onto the floor.

Just like that? He could do it, couldn't he? Just walk right back into her life like that?

Nika clutched her head and leaned on her drawn-up knees, thinking back to before they had parted ways. She tried to restore some ounce of ordinary back into her life, but then she realized that she had never been normal, and no matter how hard she tried her life would never be so.

A great weight felt as if it had been lifted off her shoulders, and she remembered the way his lips had felt traveling down her breastbone, the way his palm had held her hip. She felt, when he moved, she moved with him.

Some nights, despite herself, she would lay naked on the floor of her apartment and try to recall something that would make her warm again, that would recall the look in his eyes as the world exploded and died around them; shattered in brilliant colors of red and silver and the softness of skin.

Now, with him here, why was it so easy for her to relapse? He was a dangerous drug. Worse then alcohol. Worse then vodka. Worse then the bruises she had owned before he had rescued-kidnapped-saved her.

"Nika."

His voice made her start and she shivered. 47 was keeling beside her, his jacket gone. She let her arms fall and her head raise just a slight degree.

"Oh god," passed her lips, a prayer perhaps- perhaps for deliverance from him, or perhaps for him being delivered to her.

Silently, he wrapped his arms around her, one around her shoulder and the other around her lower back. She sank into him, breathless, as 47 cradled her.

She didn't know if she could hold him, anchor him to her, keep him, but she was damn well going to try.

"я тебя лю," she whispered, looking up into his eyes. He smiled, softly.

"I love you too."

* * *

**Fin**

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A/n- YAY!! Lol- thanks for reading! Please review!


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